The Paradoxes of Design Activism: Expertise, Scale and Exchange C. Greig Crysler Illustration 1. Students from the College of Environmental Design (CED) at UC Berkeley float tents carrying the message “Our Space” over Sproul Hall, the campus administration building, as part of the Occupy Cal demonstrations in 2011. Photo courtesy of Frameworks online journal, CED Berkeley. 77 FIELD 2 | Winter 2015 Introduction One of the most poignant moments during the protests associated with the Occupy movement took place in the winter of 2011 on the campus where I teach, at the University of California, Berkeley. Students set up tents on the campus in solidarity with the Occupy protesters soon to be evicted from various public spaces across the U.S. Their encampment was abruptly terminated by UC Police and sheriff’s deputies from Alameda County, who arrived at the scene in riot gear and forced the students to leave.1 Immediately after the eviction, students in the Department of Landscape Architecture gathered some helium balloons together and filled several lightweight nylon tents with them. They marched with other CED students to the steps of Sproul Hall (the campus administration building), where the floating tents, tethered to a large crowd below, hovered above the entrance, with a sign dangling below that read “OUR SPACE”.2 At once memorable and disarmingly simple, the gesture captures some of the open-ended potential of the loosely aligned practices that are sometimes referred to as “design activism.” The floating tents existed long enough to be filmed for the evening news. (ABC News, 2011) As such they mark one end of a diverse field of activist practices, one that has expanded rapidly in its scale, complexity and goals over the last decade.3 The other end of the field is exemplified by the rise and fall of the nonprofit architectural practice Architecture for Humanity (AFH). Initially started 15 years ago as two-person operation run out of a small apartment, AFH grew rapidly into a global network of significant size. When founders Cameron Sinclair and Kate Stohr announced they would be leaving the organization in September, 2013, AFH launched a major fundraising campaign, linked to a strategic plan for the next five years. The plan outlined a series of priorities, collectively designed to guarantee the future of AFH, including calls to “Grow General Fundraising,” by recruiting “high net worth individuals” to join the Board of Directors. A “SWOT Analysis” in the concluding 78 Crysler | Paradoxes of Design Activism section of the report identifies “brand confusion” and “competition from other design non-profits for mindshare” as a competitive threat.4 A little over a year after the hard-nosed business plan was released, AFH declared chapter 7 bankruptcy.5 At its height, AFH was perhaps the world’s leading example of a nonprofit architectural firm dedicated to humanitarian aid through architecture, with over 32 full-time staff and 45 Design Fellows, 64 local chapters, and 107 structures in construction or development worldwide. (AFH 2012, 46) In both its scale and scope, it represented for a brief time at least, the possibility of the nonprofit sector performing in ways that exceeded the scope and ambition of many “for profit” firms. In between these examples—one a temporary, one-off project, and the other a large nonprofit professional firm—are a complex range of institutions, professional practices and diverse coalitions of practitioners, students and community groups. There are, for example, many other nonprofit firms, some of which have been in existence for several decades. Perhaps the most high profile next to Architecture for Humanity on the west coast of the U.S. is Public Architecture, which seeks to bring “good design” to the nonprofit sector through a combination of paid and pro-bono work. In recent years, major philanthropic organizations such as the Rockefeller Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts have also become involved in funding initiatives that foster public discussions, exhibitions and publications around the subject of design activism, not only in relation to buildings but all forms of design, from products to urban space.6 The influx of foundation money has also led to the expansion of web-based portals, webinars, conferences and print publications that seek to share information and direct the emerging field along particular lines. The existence of a network of competing organizations in the U.S. that each claim to act in the “public interest” while seeking “social impact” through design gives some indication of the institutional jostling and realignment that is now underway. Some of these efforts are concerned with redefining the field at a national scale. The Impact Design Hub provides the first centralized database 79 FIELD 2 | Winter 2015 listing resources and funding opportunities for those committed to “designing a better world,” and is an outgrowth of a national workshop sponsored by the NEA, the Smithsonian Institution and the Lemelson Foundation; The Public Interest Design Institute provides a mobile training program that stages professional development conferences across the U.S. related to “Sustainable Environmental Economic Design (SEED).” The Center for Public Interest Design, based in the School of Architecture at Portland State University (PSU), offers one of the first certificate programs in the country. In addition to coursework organized around social and environmental issues, there is a notable emphasis on fundraising techniques, grant writing, and discussion of how “money matters for non-profit organizations.”7 The new program at PSU is part of a growing number located in institutions of higher education across the country. Some, like Yale School of Architecture’s program, have been in existence since the 1960s and were at the forefront of community-based design at that time.8 Others have started more recently, alongside the much larger expansion of “philanthrocapitalism” during the last three decades, in which state-supported relief activities have been partly or completely replaced by private subcontractors and NGOs, including nonprofit companies and faith-based organizations. (see for example, Addams 2013) At the same time, universities are under increasing pressure to demonstrate their social utility and impact in order to justify their funding streams and attract donors. In an era of declining state funding, design activism, and more broadly the huge expansion of community “outreach” programs also meshes well with the public university’s urgent need to demonstrate its efficacy to legislators.9 Commonly referred to in schools of architecture as “design/build” programs, these institutional frameworks mobilize students to design and build facilities—often for marginalized communities—using labor and materials that have been donated or paid for through grants with faculty oversight.10 The “active” part of design activism is defined in a critical relationship to an implicitly inactive and moribund professional 80 Crysler | Paradoxes of Design Activism culture, which the “activist” highlights and ultimately backs away from, sometimes by taking the entire process, from design to production, into his or her own hands. In the discussion that follows, I employ design activism as an umbrella term for many initiatives that share overlapping modes of practice and ways of thinking. While design activism is first and foremost about making and doing, the effort is expended on behalf of the “common good,” in the “public interest,” or to achieve “social impact,” however ambiguously these goals may be defined. Design activism is therefore a useful categorical gathering point because it summarizes an ambition that links many divergent approaches together: to solve social problems through design. This simple definition was the starting point for the influential 2008 collection edited by Bryan Bell and Katie Wakeford, entitled Expanding Architecture: Design as Activism. As with other books produced around the same time, this one is notable for its deft combination of social responsibility and market pragmatism. In his introduction, Bell defines design activism as something that is carried out in the interests of the common good, and is also good for business. The activist professional uses her skills and expertise to discover the design problems of communities, and then develops innovative ways to solve them. The linkage underscores a recurring theme in the literature: that design activism is as much about creating new, ethically surcharged markets for professional services as it is about social responsibility. Ideally, the two are seamlessly fused. Bell argues that a long history of professional disconnection has meant that many potential clients are not aware of how much their lives could be improved by “good design.” He suggests that impoverished or marginalized communities can gradually learn to think of themselves as empowered clients through benevolent interaction with designers, in the process creating more work for them: “Designers can also easily increase the number of clients we serve. Right now, there is a large contingent of potential clients that we are not reaching, and there is no competition for their 81 FIELD 2 | Winter 2015 projects. These clients have needs that represent the most exciting design challenges in existence. Yet the great majority of the public does not know what design is or why they might want it, or how it could help them. It is our job to explain this,